


Monsters and Gossip

by soongtypeprincess



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Family Drama, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Gen, I really don't know how else to tag this, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), Rated M for a lil bit of Francis/Ashtoreth hanky panky, Secret Relationship, i really just wanted to write about Nanny taking care of Warlock, raising the antichrist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 05:50:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21221636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soongtypeprincess/pseuds/soongtypeprincess
Summary: It's late in the Dowling household and the nanny is quite busy.





	Monsters and Gossip

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I suck at summaries, but I've been working on this fic for a couple of months now and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> I do not own these characters.

Thaddeus Dowling shut his study door and put his hands in the pockets of his burgundy dressing gown. He stepped into the dimly lit foyer and glanced at the grandfather clock.

It was past midnight. Harriet didn’t approve of him working late and he knew why. She had found out about his mistress back in DC, and even though he stopped seeing her and calling her in the middle of the night, his wife still had suspicions.

He could handle the snarky remarks and side glances from her, but she had taken up the bottle a bit more often than she used to, and that was something he couldn't control.

It happened almost every night: he would go to his study and she would fix herself a double. She would make another and then another until she finally passed out on their giant bed.

"Thank the heavens for that nanny you hired," he once muttered to her as he tucked her in one night, after he found her sprawled over the end of the bed.

They had barely discussed hiring a nanny, then suddenly she appeared, clad in a high collar black dress and dark sunglasses with her red hair tightly pinned back.

The nanny was good with the boy, gentle but firm when it was called for, and Warlock responded to her better that he responded to his own parents.

She was odd but domineering, and Thaddeus couldn't help but be attracted to that. He was a man, after all. Not even that conservative black dress could hide the way she swayed. 

He heard the door to the kitchen open and one of the maids emerged.

Dahlia always stayed after her shift on Wednesday and Friday evenings to help the housekeeper cover for the cook when she took her off days. She was hesitant to take on the extra work at first, but it meant a bit more income and it helped pay the bills as she was taking care of her mother.

She seemed a happy sort, however, humming to herself as she cleaned the washrooms or hanged the laundry out to dry in the backyard. She would even play board games with Warlock when Nanny needed one of her naps.

Dahlia fixed her handbag over her shoulder and stepped into the foyer as she buttoned her blue coat. 

Her hand reached for the doorknob.

“A late night for you, too?”

She jumped at his voice. “Mr. Dowling,” she said, “I didn’t see you there. I was just cleaning up from dinner and noticed that the cooker needed a good scrub. Mrs. Combs tends to let these things go by, but I couldn’t leave without--”

“Relax, Dahlia,” he said, approaching her with a smile. “I was about to fix myself a drink. Care to join me?”

Dahlia adjusted her bag on her shoulder again. “No, thank you, sir. I really need to get home.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. I hate drinking alone.”

“I really must decline, Mr. Dowling,” she said, her voice firm. She put a hand in her coat pocket. “My mother tends to wait up for me when I work late.”

“One drink, to start your weekend properly?”

He moved closer until Dahlia’s back was against the door.

She gripped the kubotan in her pocket.

“Dahlia!” came a voice from the top of the stairs. “Dahlia, dear, you forgot your scarf.”

Thaddeus turned to see the slender silhouette of the nanny sauntering down the stairs and approaching them as she held a red knitted scarf in her left hand. 

“Tsk, tsk, young lady,” she playfully scolded in her soft Scottish accent, and she wrapped the scarf around Dahlia’s neck. “The wind is bitter tonight. You don’t want to catch cold."

Dahlia knew that she hadn't brought a scarf with her, but she played along.

“Oh! Thank you so much, Miss Ashtoreth,” she said, smiling.

“Not to worry, dear. You go home and rest.”

The darkness of her sunglasses gave Dahlia such an overwhelming sense of comfort that she didn’t notice the annoyed look from her employer.

Nanny did, however, and she glanced at him with a raised brow before turning back to the young maid.

“Allow me, dear,” she said as she opened the door for her.

She escorted her through the courtyard that led to the small lot where the staff would park their cars. 

Dahlia twirled the scarf’s tassels around her fingers and started to look behind them.

“Not to worry,” Nanny assured her. “He won’t follow us.”

Dahlia smirked. “Thank you again, Miss Ashtoreth. I don’t mind covering for Mrs. Combs on these nights, but I do wish I didn’t have to see Mr. Dowling when I leave.”

“You handled the situation well, love,” Nanny said. “But do keep your guard. I can’t always be there with a spare scarf or an extra pair of mittens.”

Dahlia smiled. “You’re too kind, Miss Ashtoreth.”

“Far from it,” she replied in a flat tone. “You’re not the first girl to be assailed by his cheap tricks.”

“I know. Mrs. Murray told me the last girl was fired for stealing his watch. I know it isn’t true, though. She said the girl spurned his advances.”

“You’re a clever one, Dahlia,” Nanny said, “for that same purloined watch magically appeared three days after she was let go.”

Dahlia huffed. “Bastard.” She heard the nanny giggle and she flushed. “Pardon my language, Miss Ashtoreth, but--”

“It’s no matter, dear,” Nanny told her with a wide smile. “Quite understandable, really.”

They stopped at the driver side of an old pale yellow Volkswagen and Dahlia unwrapped the scarf.

Nanny stopped her. “Keep it. I have quite a few.”

“Oh, Miss Ashtoreth, are you sure?”

“I’m always sure.” 

Dahlia then noticed a light behind them. 

“Brother Francis is still up, I see,” she remarked. "I'm not one for gossip, but...I think the cook's got a wee crush on him. I see the way she looks at him, all grinning like a coy schoolgirl."

Nanny turned toward the gardener’s cottage. 

"Is that so?" she muttered, her lips growing into a wry smile.

A bright lamp was shining through the window and she could make out the rocking of his chair. 

He was reading a book and, no doubt, letting his hot cocoa grow cold. He had brushed his hair and his blonde curls shone in the light. The refraction in the window formed a soft halo around his head.

Dahlia noticed the way Nanny stared at the cottage. Not even her dark glasses could hide what she was feeling.

What was it about that gardener? He was strange, but genteel and personable. Dahlia had seen the cook interact with him one day when he came into the kitchen to bring her fresh herbs. You would think he was bringing her roses from the way she blushed as she thanked him.

It was Nanny that conversed with him the most, Dahlia had noticed. They were complete opposites, yet they spoke comfortably, as if they had known each other for years. And Warlock adored him, even when Brother Francis scolded him for purposefully crushing a snail or plucking the carrots when they weren’t ready.

Dahlia would be hanging the sheets out on the line and see them sitting on a blanket under one of the Dowlings’ apple trees. They would have tea and biscuits and would chat until Warlock fell asleep in his nanny’s lap.

She stroked the soft fabric of the scarf again. “Miss Ashtoreth, thank you again. I must be off now.”

Nanny turned back to her and gave a slight bow of her head. “Good night to you, dear.”

“Good night, Miss.”

As the old Volkswagen rumbled out of the lot, Nanny looked to the cottage again.

The gardener, perhaps sensing that he was being watched or suddenly overcome by a rush of adoration, turned to look out his window. 

Upon seeing Nanny Ashtoreth, he beamed and blew her a kiss.

Nanny gracefully “caught” it and kissed her fingertips before waving good night.

She entered the house and was greeted by Thaddeus.

“That was _ nice _ of you,” he said, his cold expression only slightly softening.

Nanny’s ears burned at his words, and she brushed past him to the stairs.

He watched her walk, his eyes locked on her body as she strolled in _that_ _way_.

“Would _ you _ like a drink?” he asked her. “You look like a woman who enjoys her whiskey.”

Nanny stopped on the third step and slowly turned.

“I prefer red wine, Mr. Dowling,” she told him. “However, I am still on duty and do not to drink on the job.”

“Warlock is asleep, no?” he asked. “And you’re turning in for the night. I would say you’re off-duty.”

“A nanny is never off-duty. Especially when the six-year-old in her care has been prone to night terrors as of late.”

Thaddeus approached the stairs and gazed into her dark lenses. 

“I suppose it’s lonely,” he said, “being a nanny, caring for other people’s children...having no personal time...no one to take care of _ your _ needs.”

His hand slid up the banister and rested onto hers.

Nanny sneered, but she slowly moved her hand away and said, “I can take care of myself, sir. Pray that you never have the privilege to see for yourself.”

Thaddeus smirked as he took a step upward but stopped when he heard screaming from his son’s room.

“Nooo, go away!”

The nanny turned on her heel and Thaddeus could swear that she flew up the staircase.

“Nanny, help meeee!”

She opened the boy’s bedroom door and his bedside lamp instantly illuminated as she rushed to his side.

“Nannyyyy!” he cried, tears running down his cheeks.

“Oh, now, my darling, shhh,” she said, lifting him from the bed. She hugged him to her chest and swayed. “My beautiful prince, you are safe. Shhh, hush now. Nanny’s got you.”

He squeezed his small arms around her neck and bawled.

“N-Nanny...there was fire....in the house,” he hiccupped through his sobs. “And there were...were monsters...in my room and...they were poking me...with big forks…and--”

“Shush, baby, you are just fine,” she soothed him, patting his back. “Those monsters are nothing to fear. If anything, they should be afraid of _ you _.”

Warlock sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “R-really? Why?”

Nanny produced a cloth handkerchief and sat on the edge of his bed. She wiped the tears from his warm face, saying, “Because you’re stronger and fiercer than they are, and any monster that dares to terrorize you in your sleep will be destroyed by your powerful light. Do you understand?”

Warlock was quiet now as he clung to the collar of Nanny’s dress. He didn’t understand what his light was and why it was powerful, but the thought of monsters being afraid of _ him _ made him feel better.

“I think so,” he whimpered. “Nanny?”

“Yes, my darling?”

“Are all monsters scary?”

Nanny grinned as she cradled him. “Not all of them, dearest. Some are quite silly.”

Warlock’s eyes widened. “Silly?”

“Oh, yes! Let’s see...hmmm...ah! There’s the Peanut Butter Creeper.”

“The what?” Warlock asked, giggling as he rested his head on her shoulder.

“The Peanut Butter Creeper. He sneaks into people’s pantries and steals their jars of peanut butter.”

“What kind of peanut butter?”

“_ Every _ kind! Smooth, crunchy, organic, fat free, sugar free. He loves all sorts!”

“And he eats it all up?”

“By the jarful, with plenty of cold milk.”

“What other monsters are there, Nanny?”

“Well, now, let me think on it,” she said as she slowly rocked him. “There’s the Ballpoint Goblin. They write dirty words on your face with a blue pen while you sleep.”

“That’s not a real monster!” he laughed.

“You keep believing that, young man,” she said, “and you’ll wake up with a naughty word on your nose!”

Warlock laughed again. “What else?”

“The Shouting Mime. That one is self-explanatory. Oh, but the silliest of all…”

“Yeah?”

“The silliest monster is the Tickle Troll.”

“What does he do?” he asked. 

Nanny smiled. “He uses mind control to make people tickle others. They can’t control themselves! He--”

She suddenly gasped. “Oh, no...oh, no, dear...something...something is happening…”

Her hand slowly crept off the boy’s back and onto his side.

“Nanny, what is it?”

“It’s...I can’t help it...I have to...nay, I _ must! _”

Warlock squealed as she tickled his ribs making him kick his legs and squirm in her grip. 

“Nanny!” he shrieked. “Haha!”

“It’s the Troll!” she lamented in a dramatic voice. “I can’t stop!”

Warlock endured more tickles until he suddenly remembered what she told him.

“Stop!” he shouted, pointing at Nanny’s face. “Go away, you naughty troll!”

Nanny’s body shook, making him giggle again, and she relaxed her hold on him.

“Oh, you saved me!” she told him, kissing his cheek. “That troll made Nanny tickle the daylights out of you.”

“But I scared him off,” he proclaimed, “because I’m scarier than all monsters!”

Nanny beamed at him.

“That you are, my sweet prince. Now, come along. It’s time to settle down and go back to sleep.”

Warlock’s countenance changed and he pouted. 

“I don’t want to.”

“I know, but you I’m afraid that you must. Little devils need their rest, too.”

“Can I sleep in your bed?”

“No, darling boy. You have a bed of your own. But I am not far. I’m here for you whenever you need me.”

She laid him down on the bed and pulled the blanket to his chest.

“Will you to sing me, Nanny?”

“It’s late, dear heart.”

“Please? I’ll go right to sleep; I promise!”

Nanny grinned and sat on the edge of the bed again. “Alright. Close your eyes.”

He did so as she dimmed the lamp light and placed a hand on his chest, singing in a low voice:

_ Hush little baby, don’t say a word, _

_ Nanny’s going to steal you a mockingbird. _

_ And if that mockingbird won’t sing, _

_ Nanny’s going to rip out both of its wings. _

_ And since that mockingbird won’t fly, _

_ Nanny’s going to bake him inside a pie. _

_ And if that mockingbird pops out, _

_ Nanny’s going to--” _

“Warlock,” came his mother’s voice as she entered the room.

Nanny put her finger to her lips.

“Shh, Mrs. Dowling,” she whispered. “He’s alright.”

Harriet looked down at her little boy and sighed. “Is he alright? I thought I heard him screaming; I was asleep.”

Nanny didn’t respond as she watched her stroke her son’s forehead. She knew that Mrs. Dowling had just awoken from having too much gin again. She could smell it on her breath.

Just then, Thaddeus stepped into the room and stood behind his wife. 

“You okay, champ?”

They both shushed him and he grimaced.

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

He glanced at his son, who was now dozing as he held onto his nanny’s slender fingers.

“Took you long enough to see to him,” he muttered to Harriet.

“Stop it, Thaddeus!” she hissed. “Nanny was here and he’s alright. I was asleep.”

“Yes…”

Harriet turned to him. “You have something you’d like to say?”

He sneered. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re a liar. What were doing up late again, Thaddeus? Making sure the maid cleans up properly?”

Nanny rolled her eyes behind her glasses. 

“I was working on my speech,” Mr. Dowling corrected her, his voice firm.

“Hmph...been working on that speech of yours every night lately. And making _ certain _phone calls.”

“Harriet,” he said, frowning, “for God’s sake.”

There was an awkward silence, but Nanny kept her hand on Warlock’s chest as he dozed.

_ Poor woman _ , she mused. _ Pity she has to hold on for five more years, but Warlock will make her a queen then. She’ll have nothing to worry about, especially her husb-- _

“Just...come to bed,” Thaddeus addressed his wife in a gruff voice.

He walked into the corridor, and Harriet gently kissed Warlock's forehead.

Nanny gave her a small grin as their eyes met before she left the bedroom.

She watched as Warlock opened his eyes.

“You were faking sleep, dear?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Excellent. You’re very good at it. Shall I finish the song?”

Warlock shook his head. “Daddy is mad at Mommy again.”

Nanny sighed and brushed a lock of his black hair from his forehead. “What they feel is something you can’t help, my darling. They are adults and have their own problems, but one day, you will make your world new again.”

Warlock sniffed and rubbed his eyes again. Nanny always told him this, and he always asked about this new world that would be his, but tonight he was too tired. He would ask her tomorrow.

“I want to look at the stars,” he said.

“Dearest, you know I adore stargazing with you, but it’s getting late.”

“Please, Nanny? I promise to go to sleep, for real this time.”

He looked up at her with bright green eyes and she couldn’t help but smile.

“Alright, my love,” she said, handing him his stuffed snake toy. 

It was a cobra and was as long as Warlock with grey and yellow swirls down its black body with a hood around its head that was soft and flexible so that he could push it down against its neck.

Nanny turned off his light and shut the door. She then crossed the room and switched on an oddly-shaped lamp.

Stars suddenly burst from it, with the constellations outlined, and they covered the entire ceiling and bedroom walls.

Warlock smiled as Nanny pulled a chair close to the bed. 

He pointed toward the twinkling stars, asking, “What’s that constellation, Nanny? The one with a big square and three legs?”

Nanny giggled. “Two legs, dear. And a head. That one is Pegasus.”

“The horse with wings?”

“Exactly right. Pegasus was an offspring of the god Poseidon.”

“He’s the god of the ocean,” Warlock stated.

“Correct again.”

“I thought Pegasus came from Medusa...from her blood, when Perseus killed her.”

Nanny turned to him. “How do you know so much about Pegasus, my prince?”

“Brother Francis. He gave me a book about the gods. I can read some of it. Some of the names are hard, but I like the pictures.”

Nanny smiled at him again before pointing to another one. “Do you know about that one, then? That big one?”

Warlock studied it, then shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

“That’s Orion. See? There’s his belt, made up of three stars: Zeta, Epsilon, and Delta. And his sword there contains many nebulas, but particularly, the Orion Nebula, where stars are born.”

“Wow…” Warlock said, trying to hide his yawn.

Nanny noticed, but continued, “He was also born of Poseidon and was a great hunter. He wanted to kill every animal on the planet, but the god Apollo didn’t like that, so he sent a giant scorpion to kill him.”

Warlock’s eyes started to droop. “Did it?”

“I’m afraid so, love. But, the goddess Artemis and her mother Leto, who both loved Orion, asked Zeus to place him in the stars as a memorial to him. And he did. And there he has stayed for many centuries.”

She paused and gazed into Orion’s sword. She remembered that nebula very well.

“Speaking of killer scorpions, there’s the one who dealt the death blow: Scorpius. See that one?”

There was no reply as Warlock had finally fallen back to sleep.

\----------------

Brother Francis closed his book and stretched his arms above his head. He rose from his rocking chair and picked up his mug of now cold cocoa.

He tapped the rim of it and the cocoa reheated instantly, and he brought it to his lips, sipping carefully.

“Lovely,” he sighed, and he picked up his book to place it back on his small bookshelf by his dinner table. 

It wasn’t a hard decision to close the bookstore during the week. He was off on the weekends and would take the early morning bus back to Soho so no one on the Manor would see him out of his disguise. He would then take his time in opening late and then closing early so that he could relax in his own comfy chair in the back room.

However, it was sometimes hard to concentrate on his reading back home since Nanny had to stay in the Manor. He would occasionally look up from his book only to find her favorite sofa empty.

Francis knew, however, that this was a temporary set-up. The boy would turn eleven in a few years and then…

_ Then what? _ he pondered. _ The charade will be done with and Crowley and I can return to our regular--oh! Don’t be silly! There will be a War! There will be no more pleasantries. No more ducks at the park, no more Ritz...no more quiet nights with Crowley sleeping on your sofa. Oh, you stupid angel! How did you get yourself mixed up in this? _

A sudden knock at the door startled him and his mug of cocoa shook with him, spilling a bit on his fingers.

He winced and set down the mug.

He flicked his injured fingers and opened the door to find Nanny Ashtoreth. She had removed her glasses and it appeared that she had reapplied her red lipstick. 

“Good evening, Brother Francis,” she said softly, gliding past him and taking a seat at his table.

“Well, hello, dear,” he said, dropping his West Country accent as he closed the door. He joined her, sitting on the other side of the rickety table.

Nanny moved his mug toward him.

“Did I startle you, angel?” she asked, not dropping her accent at all. “You seem a bit shaken.”

“Oh, not at all. It’s just that a bit of cocoa spilled onto my hand. Smarts a bit.”

Nanny reached toward him. “Allow me.”

She gently took his left hand and brought it to her lips.

Francis shivered as she gently blew onto his fingers, soothing the burning sensation almost instantaneously. 

His breath hitched as he tried to keep from blushing. “M-Miss Ashtoreth,” he said, his fake accent suddenly returning.

Before he could say anything else, she pulled his fingers closer and kissed them.

When she finished, she kept his hand in hers and smiled. 

“Better?” She stroked his palm.

Francis gulped and nodded. “Yes,” he whispered. “You have a magic touch, miss.”

Nanny rose from her seat and approached him. He stared up at her in awe as she made herself comfortable on his lap.

Francis sighed as her lithe fingers carded through his curls. “D-dear…” he said, closing his eyes and relishing her touch. “Someone will see.”

She giggled. “Let them see, Mr. Francis. The gossip in the house is quite lacking.”

“You...oh, darling…” he keened as her nails raked against his scalp.

The tips of her gentle fingers slithered over his ear, sending chills through him. He snapped his fingers to close the curtain.

Her fingers traced over his jaw.

“Kiss me, angel.”

Francis smiled as he cupped her cheek.

He didn’t mind the taste of her lipstick, nor did he care that it left dark red smudges on his face. He loved kissing her, and seeing as how there hadn’t been many opportunities to do so lately, he was happy to oblige.

In more ways than one.

He lowered his hand to her thigh and slowly raised her black skirt.

Nanny grinned. “Mr. Francis,” she purred against his lips. “You dirty thing, what do you think you’re doing?”

Francis playfully sucked her bottom lip, making her moan. His hand moved under her skirt and stroked her garters.

“You wanted to make gossip, my dear.”

\-------------------------

The cook arrived as she always did: twenty minutes early and in a sour mood.

She slammed the door of her car and marched through the courtyard as she carried her heavy bag low at her side.

Traffic was such a state that morning. Whoever came up with the M25 was a sadist, in her opinion.

She noticed smoke coming from the chimney of the gardener’s cottage and stopped. The curtain was closed only a bit and she could see movement. It wasn’t a shock; the gardener was an early riser, just like she was. 

He wasn’t much to look at, but he was charming and such a sweet man. She even caught herself flushing a bit when he would tip his hat at her as she passed by.

She often wondered how he spent his time in that cottage of his, thinking of what he did to ward off that feeling of loneliness.

The door to the cottage opened and she grinned, quickly straightening her back to greet him properly.

Her smile faded when she saw a tall, slender figure emerge. 

The nanny turned and the gardener took her hand and kissed it.

“Have a lovely day, my dear,” he told her, his accent pronounced and loud.

“Oh, Mr. Francis, thank you,” the nanny said with a giggle. “You will come to tea with me and Warlock, won’t you?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Another kiss to the hand and the cottage door closed.

The cook watched as the nanny pinned back her long red hair as she walked to the house. 

She huffed and stomped inside, running into the housekeeper. 

“Oh, my!” Mrs. Murray exclaimed. “Please, do watch where you’re go--”

“Mrs. Murray!” the cook said as she took hold of her arm. “I just saw the most despicable thing as I was walking in the courtyard.”

“Dear Lord, woman,” she scoffed. “What could you possibly have--”

“That strange nanny. She was coming out of the gardener’s house! Disheveled as anything, looking absolutely flushed. Can you believe it? The nanny and the gardener! What a tramp! She’s seduced that nice man, she has! I’ve a mind to report her to Mrs. Dowling!”

Mrs. Murray sighed and removed the cook’s hand from her arm.

She shook her head.

“Mrs. Combs, where _ have _ you been?”

The cook frowned. “What--I don’t know what you--”

“Everyone knows about them! Especially Mrs. Dowling! But they don’t let their romance get in the way of their duties. Will it get in the way of _ yours _, Mrs. Combs?”

“N-no, ma’am, but--”

“Then, get to your kitchen. Mr. Dowling has a flight to America today and would like his breakfast sooner this morning.”

“But--”

“Off with you, now!”

Mrs. Murray shuffled out of the front door and the cook, still shocked at what she just heard, rushed to the kitchen.

The nanny was there already, making the first pot of coffee.

“Good morning, Mrs. Combs,” she said with a grin. “I was up early so I thought I would--”

“You’ve got some nerve, Miss Ashtoreth,” she hissed as she set her bag on the kitchen island and glared. 

The nanny looked at her, her dark glasses reflecting the rising sun from the window. 

“You’re not the only one around here who can make coffee, Mrs. Combs. However, I do like mine to be quite strong...robust...”

She flashed a wicked smile. “Blonde.”

The cook bit her tongue as she stomped past her into the pantry to get breakfast started.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> There are different versions of the Orion story (i.e. who sent Scorpius after him), but the myth I learned in school was of Apollo because he hated the fondness his sister Artemis had for Orion.


End file.
